


from the other side of things

by alwaysbuddy



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon Dialogue, Case Fic, Gen, Mid Season Spoilers, Pre-Slash, S17 E09: "Depravity Standards", Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2016-02-27
Packaged: 2018-05-23 12:40:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6116761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alwaysbuddy/pseuds/alwaysbuddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re a good detective, Carisi.” Barba slips off the table gracefully, gathering all the cards up. “Do what you’re sure of.”</p><p>Sonny considers this for a moment, and then flips his note-pad shut, helping to stack everything back in order. “Thanks,” he repeats, and they get their coats, ready to call it a day. Sonny opens the door, and ushers them out. “I’ll review the confession tonight.”</p><p> “Do that.” Barba pats him on the shoulder, just a light touch, before they part ways on the steps. The feeling lingers, even as Sonny steps into the light of day. “Good day, Carisi.”</p><p>“See you, Barba.”</p><p>-</p><p>Set during S17xE09. Moments during, before and after. Basically canon-compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	from the other side of things

**Author's Note:**

> Basically a write-up of the entire 'Depravity Standards' episode from Carisi's POV. Also this is pre-slash Carisi/Barba. This is really just so I can talk myself into writing a sequel that only focuses on them.
> 
> Timeline might be off, and we haven't really gotten Carisi's niece's name yet, so, y'know. Creative liberties, and whatnot.

A paragraph, and another. His fingers skip across the keyboard of his laptop easily now.

_This is a point of fact for the jury to decide, as there is evidence of the claimant examining the van personally, indicating that he had his own inspection done, which may be the material inducement, and there is evidence that the claimant may have relied on the defendant’s statement as he—_

Sonny pauses, and rereads the line. That doesn’t really make much sense, does it? He probably should add a full stop somewhere in there. He’s starting to write like some of the judgments he’s been reading recently. Long-winded and apparently unschooled in punctuation marks.

“Keeping yourself busy, Carisi?” 

He glances up to see the Lieutenant standing beside his desk, watching him with an inquiring look on her face. “Yep,” Sonny answers, quickly typing in the rest of the sentence and making a mental note to revise its structural integrity later. “It has been kinda slow around here. Guess even the bad guys take time off for Thanksgiving.”

Olivia smiles at that. “Lucky for us. Exams coming up soon?”

“Yeah.” Sonny nods. He’s not too worried about those. He’s been putting in some major studying hours, despite the rush of cases that come in each and every week. He’s glad the month’s been lacking in action; the free time is godsend for revision. “Gonna be real glad for the two month break right after. Could actually get some sleep for once.”

“Don’t overwork yourself.” Olivia pats him lightly on the shoulder. “Something I learnt the hard way, when I was just starting out. I would go weeks on three hours of sleep a night, and completely crash in the middle of a case. So remember to rest, alright?”

“Gotcha, boss.” Sonny acknowledges her words with another nod, and just as she’s making to walk away, he calls, “Hey, Liv. Mind if I ask something?”

She turns, and waits. 

“I was thinking,” Sonny begins, a little hesitantly, because he’s thought about this, and really, it isn’t the most conventional thing in the world. Only pre-law students, really, and maybe interns, but this is far from an internship, and he doesn’t even know if _he’ll_ say yes now, even after a tentative question or two, but— “Since the month is slow an’ all, would you mind if I observed Barba for the Hodda case? Like, y’know, shadowing. Just for this case. I think I’d learn a lot, watching him.”

Olivia considers him for a moment, and Sonny feels like she’s wondering why Sonny even wants to in the first place. But he knows that she knows how much this would mean to him. He’s voiced the idea before, just casually, and she’s not yet shot it down.

“Barba’s agreed to this?” is her first question, a little surprised, even. Sonny had been expecting that.

“Almost,” Sonny admits, and Olivia’s expression turns amused. “We’ve talked about it before! Kinda. But, but—there was never the right time, and then Amanda had to take leave, and Dodds had that conference, but—”

“—but now’s the perfect time,” finishes Olivia. “Go for it, Sonny.”

Sonny blinks. “Really, boss?”

“It’s going to be a quiet month. Thanksgiving, after all.” She smiles, and Sonny feels ecstatic to get her approval on this. “And I’m sure Barba will take you on. Try not to antagonise him too much, though.”

Sonny grins. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Liv. Appreciate it.”

He turns back to his essay, still smiling. The chance he’s been waiting for has finally made itself known, and damn if he doesn’t take it by all means necessary.

 

 

He manages to find Barba the next day at court in the corridors, looking impeccable in a three-piece suit as always. There’s a determination in his step that has Sonny jogging a little to catch up with him, calling, “Hey, Counselor. You on your way to the Hodda motion hearing?”

Of course he is. Why else would he be here? It’s a stupid question to ask, but Barba answers him anyway, with a woebegone, “Wish I weren’t.”

Sonny decides to go straight to the point. “Alright, so, listen; you know I’m going to law school at night, right?”

“I’ve alerted the Bar Association,” Barba says, dry as a bone. They come to a halt right outside the doors of the courtroom. It’s rare that Barba isn’t tossing a jab at him, but making quips instead, and Sonny waves it off lightly.

“Right. You know I’ve been talking to you about maybe shadowing?” He watches Barba nod in acknowledgment, probably recalling their most recent conversation after one of their last cases, where Barba had offhandedly mentioned the new interns at the DA’s office, and Sonny had mentioned how he would’ve liked to have done an internship, or at the very least, shadowed an attorney for a bit before taking up his degree. “Well, I think that I could really learn a lot, on this case.”

Barba’s uncertainty plays out on his face. “Uh—I don’t know, with Rollins out, SVU’s short-staffed, and—”

“Naw, I checked with Liv. She says Thanksgiving’s slow, this is the perfect time.” 

Barba still looks unconvinced for a moment, looking as if he’s rolling his words around in his mouth, thinking about the answer to give.

“Come on,” Sonny says, hoping that the words don’t come off as too pleading, even as he taps him lightly across the lapel, a little brush of his knuckles against cloth that seems to wake Barba up from his thoughts. 

“Fine,” Barba says, and Sonny internally rejoices. Immediately, Barba adds, raising a finger, “First lesson: shadows do not speak, they have no opinions.”

“You won’t even know I’m here,” declares Sonny, following Barba in the direction of the courtroom, a promise to be on his absolute best behaviour. The look on Barba’s face clearly says that he believes otherwise. But Sonny will prove it to him. He’ll be a great shadow. Even if he’s not allowed to say a single word.

It’s that moment when defense counsel arrives, and Barba immediately goes into prosecutor-mode, careful words and sizing up Lisa Hassler, whom Sonny may or may not be just a little impressed by, due to the legacy she comes from. 

A quick exchange, and she slips into the room. Sonny glances after her. “Lisa Hassler, huh? Wow. Her old man was a legend.”

“Yeah. She’s still trying to impress him.” The look in Barba’s eyes doesn’t change. “Even though he’s been dead for eleven years.” He stalks off into the room.

Sonny watches him go, and steps in after him, perhaps the slightest bit in awe. Now _that’s_ one way to begin a motion hearing. 

 

 

He takes careful notes during the hearing as he sits at the counsel table, taking in the details Barba mentions, and Hassler’s as well. Sonny doesn’t forget to watch how Barba addresses the motions to Judge Horowitz, or Hassler either. His words are confident and motions familiar, as Sonny’s seen and heard in previous cases that Barba’s handled. 

It’s a surprise to hear that they won’t be trying Hodda for the kidnapping, but Sonny just makes a note of that too, and listens to the rest of the hearing with rapt attention. 

When the hearing ends, Sonny follows Barba into a side-room, where Barba tells him to get his notepad out again. “Come to my office on Tuesday,” Barba says, looking through his papers, “at, say, eleven. We’ll work out questions for jury voir dire. I want two-sided numbered cards, get those prepared. Make sure you know everything about this case by then. I mean _everything._ And bring your laptop. We’ll be looking at each member of the venire before and after.”

“Gotcha.” Sonny scribbles the lot down enthusiastically. “Anything else, Counselor?”

Barba just lets his gaze flick down towards the notepad, and back up, before saying, “This might turn out better than I’d expected.”

“Don’t be too surprised,” Sonny says lightly, “I’m good for things, too.” 

Barba almost smiles at that, but just tucks his papers into his briefcase and shuts it instead. “It’s uncommon to have anyone other than counsel sit at counsel table, so remember. You’re not second chair, but act it anyway.”

“Understood,” Sonny answers soberly, completely aware of what a huge opportunity he’s been given, and how lucky he is that Barba’s an ADA who usually works without a second attorney to back him up. “See you on Tuesday, Counselor.”

Barba opens the door for the both of them. “Good day, Detective.” 

 

 

He works himself hard over the next week, learning the facts of the case and the entirety of its history, spanning back all the way to ‘99. Sonny had been extremely enthused at first, returning to the precinct after the hearing and proclaiming how awesome the hearing had been, but he’d soon realised that his excitement wasn’t going to be shared by the others, who’d only given him judging looks for it.

Sonny gets it. They’re looking at the result, and not what led up to that result. They hadn’t been in that courtroom, and they hadn’t seen the way Barba and Hassler had parried. It had been a great example of a motion hearing. But, then, he knows that this only means double the work for all of them, since the kidnapping can’t even be mentioned in the slightest during the trial. He knows that this only means that it’ll be harder to prove the murder, and it’ll be even harder for Delores, who’ll have to get up there on the stand and testify, more than ten years after the fact.

As he pours over files, he wonders how it’d been when the Lieutenant had been on the case. When she’d just been a junior detective, like Sonny. Dedicating so much time to the case, to Hector Rodriguez, to Delores Rodriguez. Sonny can’t imagine having investigated a case for such a long period of time.

Did she ever imagine it’d turn out like this?

“Carisi,” Fin calls, interrupting his thoughts, and Sonny looks up to see Fin with a thumb pointing at the clock on the wall. “Don’t you gotta go meet Barba at his office or somethin’?”

Shit. He’s going to be ten minutes late if he doesn’t leave now. Sonny throws a rushed thanks in Fin’s general direction as he scrambles to gather his things, tugging his coat on haphazardly. He can always fix his clothing on the way over. He really wouldn’t want the first thing Barba notices to be his tie being out of order.

“Your tie is crooked,” comes Barba’s voice, the second he pops around the door of his office a little while later, and Sonny resists the urge to look down at it, settling for closing the door behind him and patting the tie down hastily with his other hand instead. “Did you happen to join a marathon on your way over?”

“Funny,” Sonny mumbles, “laugh at the man while he’s still out of breath from trying to catch a cab during peak hour.”

The corner of Barba’s mouth quirks up in an almost smile, just like the other day. It’s only then that Sonny notices that Barba’s doing his thing again—feet up on the desk, leaning back into his chair like it’s the most comfortable thing in the world. It’s one of the only times Sonny ever really sees the man somewhat relaxed. “Sit.”

Sonny settles into one of the chairs opposite Barba, and they immediately get into the work that’s ahead of them: jury selection. It’s a whole new can of beans for Sonny. He watches everything that Barba’s writing down, which almost seems like a foreign language to him, never having seen this part of the process before.

“Remember,” Barba tells him, “you don’t argue your case. You ask questions. You learn about these people. You get them to talk.”

“But.” Sonny frowns a little. “Questions like,” he motions towards one of the papers, “those, they aren’t gonna get very good answers, though.”

“That’s how you start a conversation. Open-ended questions. Once you’ve gotten them to start talking about themselves, what you have to do is observe, and listen. Then, the leading questions come in.”

“And the questionnaire?”

“Nobody likes talking about sensitive issues in front of a group of strangers.”

“Makes sense.” 

The rest of the afternoon passes by in a flash. By the time Sonny’s leaving with a full page of things to do before the next time they meet, he figures he’s learnt more than he could have ever from just staring down the pages of a book, or an article about the thing on the internet. 

He returns to the precinct, only to have Liv ask him and Fin to go follow up on a call that just came in, and by the time that’s over and done with, the day’s gone, and Sonny’s drop-dead exhausted from running around all day, and giving chase to that one guy who’d mistakenly ran because they’d thought he was their perp, and he thought they were on him for a robbery.

No big deal, thinks Sonny, as he absently rubs at his cheek, a little chafed from being scraped against a brick wall as he’d turned the corner a little too sharply. It’ll probably fade by the morning. Just another usual day.

It’s a bit of a surprise to see Barba walk in sometime during the night, and Sonny nods at him as he passes by, heading towards Liv’s office.

Barba nods back, but he pauses for a moment, and backtracks. “Carisi, what—” He motions at his face, frowning a little, and Sonny realises he must have seen the bruise that’s been spreading across his cheek. “You didn’t have that this afternoon.”

“Some kid decided to run, and I decided to turn too hard into a wall.” Sonny shrugs. “It looks worse than it is, really.”

“God, I hope so,” Barba says, shaking his head. “Ice it when you get home. Wouldn’t want anyone else to run the second they catch sight of you, either.”

Sonny has to swallow a laugh at that, despite the dig at him. “Shoulda known you’d say that.”

“If that’s the case, maybe I should stop being so predictable, then.”

“But that’s part of the fun, Counselor.”

Barba meets his eyes, amused. “Is it, now.”

The door to Olivia’s office opens, the rattle of the shutters making the both of them glance up. “Hey,” she says, “am I interrupting something?”

“Just conversation,” Barba says, gaze flickering back to Sonny momentarily. “You busy?”

Olivia steps back. “I’ve got time.” She disappears back into her office, leaving the two of them.

Barba turns, and says, the hint of a smirk on his face, “Try not to let anymore solid objects get in your way, Detective,” before heading off to follow Olivia into the room, briefcase in hand.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sonny calls after him, grinning. Truth be told, he’s starting to not mind the teasing at all. It’s almost like Barba’s—

Sonny shakes his head. Nah, it isn’t.

 

 

“You challenged the, uh, black guy busted for drunk driving for cause, right? The guy who hates cops.”

The little side-room where they’re sitting is dusty, and the cabinets that are lined against the wall have probably seen better years, but Sonny’s still distracted by the voir dire he’d just gotten to witness. It’d been one of the more interesting experiences he’s had, ever since he’d started studying law, and watching Barba at work had been enlightening, to say the least. Everything he’d mentioned over the past week, he’d utilised while speaking to the jurors, and in a way that gave him the answers he needed.

“A+, Carisi,” Barba murmurs, from where he’s perched on the end of the opposite side of the desk, busy looking through and sorting Sonny’s own note-cards out into piles on the table. “You used your peremptory to bounce that guy who sees all those shades of grey.”

“Well, he thought _genocide_ was wrong,” muses Sonny, and Barba huffs out a laugh, more of a chuckle, under his breath, “absolutely.”

“Unfortunately, Lewis Hodda’s not on trial for genocide.”

“But you, uhm.” Sonny reaches for one of the cards in the _‘kept’_ pile, “you left in the,” and holds it up, “good lord lady. She thinks cops lie sometimes; s’not good.”

“She’s in.” Barba reaches over for the card, and sets it back on the tabletop, looking him right in the eyes. “I want people who believe in right or wrong. But I don’t want morons.”

Sonny understands that. People who can think for themselves are better to have than people who don’t think at all. “Alright,” he murmurs, shooting Barba a quick smile, and turning back to the pile of unsorted cards on the table.

Barba continues looking through Sonny’s notations. “Your observations aren’t bad, for your first time.”

“Yeah, well,” Sonny says, a little distracted while peering at one of the cards, “I tried to take into account everything you said, before. It really helped.”

“Oh,” comes Barba’s voice, and Sonny looks up to see him a little surprised. “Glad you listened.”

“Me too.” Sonny adds, “Thanks for the tips, though. I know you could’ve just let me watch you do stuff without actually explaining anything.”

Barba hums, picking up another card, and tapping his foot against one of the chairs. “Some time before I did my J.D., I did a short internship. Nearly made me want to do something else entirely different altogether, at first.”

“Yeah? What happened?” Sonny forgets the cards for a moment, and leans in, just the slightest, intrigued by Barba’s sudden sharing of his past. He doesn’t know Barba at all, he realises, outside of the precinct and the courts. This is the most time they’ve ever spent together, on this one case, in all the time they’ve been acquainted with each other.

“On the first day, the man let me sit in a corner of his office while he read medical reports for six hours straight.” At Sonny’s incredulous look, Barba continues, “He said, after, that it had been boring for me because I’d just observed him reading. For him, it had been the best time he’d had all day, coming up with theories and ideas for his case. The next day, he let me see the reports, and the stuff he’d come up with.”

Sonny hangs on to every word. “And?”

Barba smiles. “And that sold me. Haven’t looked back since.”

Sonny whistles. “What a story.”

“What about you, Carisi?” Barba tucks a finger along his collar and loosens his tie just a little more. It is a little stuffy in here. Sonny follows the motion of his hand, even as it drops back down to his side. “In for the long run?”

There’s an obvious hesitation, Sonny knows, that appears on his face. He gets that look every time someone asks him if he’s going to do anything with that degree. It’s really not like he isn’t already, it’s just that it doesn’t take precedent in his life right now. But, after all of this? He can’t deny that the thought’s occurred to him. Maybe just a little. “I’m not sure, honestly.”

Barba seems to contemplate something for a moment. “You’re thousands of dollars in debt, sleeping four hours a night, and overworking yourself every day, for something you’re unsure of?”

“Hey, not all of us have our whole lives determined ahead of time already,” Sonny says, just a little defensively, but he shakes his head when he thinks about it. “Sorry. I’ve just—gotten the question a lot.”

“Well,” Barba says, “for what it’s worth, I think you’ve got the potential to join the legal sector, if that’s ever what you want.”

“Thanks,” Sonny murmurs, inwardly pleased that Barba of all people is recognising potential in him, but still somewhat disheartened by his own inability to make up his own mind about his future. 

It’s not that he doesn’t want to be a cop. He’d loved his time in the Academy, and he loves his time working SVU, even more than he’d ever with Homicide. The job—it’s for him. He can’t see himself doing anything else.

But then, he looks at Barba, and all those other attorneys, and he steps into that court-room, and there are suddenly _options._

“You don’t have to decide now, you know.” Barba’s voice snaps him out of his rumination. “SVU’s lucky to have you, even though you’re... you.”

“What’s that s’pposed to mean?” Sonny exclaims indignantly, and Barba laughs again. Twice in a day. Wow, he’s really starting to warm up to Sonny, isn’t he? 

“You’re a good detective, Carisi.” Barba slips off the table gracefully, gathering all the cards up. “Do what you’re sure of.”

Sonny considers this for a moment, and then flips his note-pad shut, helping to stack everything back in order. “Thanks,” he repeats, and they get their coats, ready to call it a day. Sonny opens the door, and ushers them out. “I’ll review the confession tonight.”

“Do that.” Barba pats him on the shoulder, just a light touch, before they part ways on the steps. The feeling lingers, even as Sonny steps into the light of day. “Good day, Carisi.”

“See you, Barba.”

 

 

He decides to stop by Pangione’s on his way back to the precinct, a quick detour after confirming that Amanda’s fine with him coming over tonight to check on her, and a ‘no, Carisi, I don’t need anything else, really, I’m fine, _Jesus,’_ from Amanda over the phone, who sounds sorely in need of something to cheer her up besides watching reruns of Kitchen Nightmares and getting cuddles from Frannie.

A couple of portions of ravioli fill up the bag on the counter-top, but before he knows it, he’s getting an extra order of fettuccine alfredo with less sauce, because what if Amanda gets a stomach-ache from the awful food she’s been eating recently that Sonny hasn’t been making? 

He frets until he ends up getting two salads too, because he remembers how much his sister had craved those every time she’d had Italian in her second trimester. 

Amanda will definitely like these. Sonny never goes wrong when it comes to food.

He returns to the precinct a little less worried, and drops off one of the ravioli portions on Fin’s desk. “Early dinner run,” he says, dropping the bag in a chair and pulling out his laptop.

“You’re a saint,” Fin says, “also, give me the address for this place. Think I’ll take my son for pizzas over the weekend.”

“Man, he will love you even more after taking him here. Their margheritas? Amazing.”

“I’ll take your word for it. You staying late tonight?”

“Yeah.” Sonny gets Hodda’s confession up on the big screen, and pulls out his legal-pad and pen. His fingers brush over the notes from the morning, where he’d written absentmindedly in a corner, _‘Thank Barba - coffee? lunch?’_ He’s got to remember to make good on that note. “Checking to see if I’ve missed anything.”

“Good luck.” Fin gets up, checking his watch. “I’ve watched that confession more times than I’d like. I’m not gonna stick around for another. Night, Carisi.”

“Bye, Fin.” Sonny waves him off, and unbuttons his cuffs, rolling his sleeves up. Time to get started. 

 

 

It’s late into the evening when Sonny hears the deliberate clack of shoes against the floors of the precinct coming up behind him, as he rewrites his thoughts on the confession again. It’s probably Barba, he figures, because Fin’s already split and so has Liv, and she’s almost always the last one to leave, other than Dodds, more recently.

The footsteps come to a halt. 

“Anything?” Barba’s voice is soft, as if he’s trying not to draw too much attention to his being here, and Sonny sets his pen down, letting out a sigh as he swivels his chair around to face Barba.

“Y’know, I’ve watched this whole confession three times, and this guy is crazy, but he’s not, y’know.” Sonny mimes loopiness. “Crazy.”

The look on Barba’s face is expected. “Thank you, Dr. Carisi.” There’s that same hint of amusement, a hint of teasing that Sonny’s starting to look forward to just a little, when he adds, “You gonna take up medicine after you pass the Bar?”

 _After,_ not _if,_ Sonny’s mind helpfully highlights for him, he said _after._

“Not tonight,” Sonny replies, getting up. He starts folding his sleeves back down. “M’gonna take this care package up to Rollins.” He motions in the direction of the bag that’s perched in a chair, and Barba glances at it, probably noticing it for the first time. “She’s still on bed-rest and she is going shacky-wacky.”

“You can drop it off on your way uptown.” Sonny frowns, wondering what this is leading to. “Hector’s mother takes the stand in the morning; she could use some hand-holding. Also,” he adds, his gaze following Sonny’s hands as Sonny buttons up his cuffs, “remind her, Benson’s not going to be in the court-room for her—”

“Right, ‘cause she hasn’t testified herself yet, I get it.”

“Good,” Barba says, pleased, nodding a little. “Go, be supportive, she’s a good woman.”

She is. Sonny’s only met Delores a handful of times since becoming introduced to the case, and she’s strong. Hopeful, even though all these years have passed, and Hector isn’t coming back to her. Hopeful that justice will be be dispensed no lesser than Hector deserves. Sonny wants to make sure that she—and Hector—both get the justice they deserve.

“Where’s Delores?” Sonny makes to get his coat, still looking at Barba when he notices the way Barba’s expression changes minutely, something sadder that he’s never seen before.

“Her old apartment.” Barba stares away from Sonny, eyebrows the slightest bit furrowed. “She never moved, so Hector’d be able to find her if he ever came back.” He finally glances up at Carisi, and it hits him how invested Barba is in the case. In Delores, and Hector.

His tie is still loosened, from earlier in the day. It makes the exhaustion stand out more, the tiredness that’s always hidden by the calm facade and the confidence and the will to do his job. 

For a fleeting second, Sonny wants to reach over and—something, but he reels the urge back, and tells himself that Barba will be fine. He just needs some rest. He wouldn’t want some junior detective attempting to offer comfort of any sort. Especially not him.

(But, maybe. _Someday._ He isn’t sure why the thought appears, but he allows it anyway.)

Sonny just nods, and gathers his things, leaving before he can say anything else.

Behind him, as he walks away, Barba stands with his hands still in his pockets, silently contemplating the screen on the wall, and Lewis Hodda along with it.

 

 

“So, Fin’s gonna come by tomorrow and pick you up, Mrs. Rodriguez, yeah?” Sonny hangs back by the door. “You’ll be alright till then?”

Delores pats his arm. “I’ve been waiting for sixteen years,” she says softly, and Sonny places his hand over hers in understanding. “I’ll be fine, Detective. _Muchas gracias._ I know you must have been busy.”

“It was no problem at all, really. Goodnight, Mrs. Rodriguez.” Sonny smiles, as warm as he possibly can, and steps away as she closes the door. 

He checks his watch. It’s nearly ten. He could go back to the precinct, maybe see if there’s anything to finish up. He could go home, back to his little flat, and crash on the pull-out for a few hours. Maybe pull out that paperback that’s buried under a blanket somewhere and see if it can put him to sleep before the hands on the clock align north.

Instead, Sonny makes a detour, driving down the streets until he comes across what he’s looking for. He parks on the curb, just for a quick moment, and walks to the doors of the building. He rests his hand on the door momentarily, thinking about tomorrow, before slipping through the doors quietly. 

There aren’t very many people inside. Just two, conversing near the front, heads bowed. Sonny makes sure not to disturb them as he closes the door behind him.

The rows of votive candles flicker silently along the far right wall of the little church. Sonny steps along the pews until he’s there, glancing across the display. The candles are real candles, not the electronic ones that some churches use these days. Soft tallow, sitting in their little glass cups. 

Sonny digs out a five-dollar bill from a pocket, and drops it in the basket beside the display, before reaching over to light one of the candles.

One for Delores. He watches the candle burn, a faint wisp that quickly grows into a steady flame, bright in the darkness. For Delores, and Hector. Wyatt, too. The other children.

“Please hear my prayer,” Sonny whispers, “if it be Your Will, grant my petition.” _Give them peace of mind, peace of heart. Keep them safe, always. Let them know they have someone looking after them._ “But above all, make me loyal and faithful to You, in all circumstances of my life. Amen.”

Faith in things unseen can be bolstered by things seen—like a burning candle. A tangible representation of the prayer he keeps hidden behind his daily countenance. 

Sonny believes. He does.

He lights another, just before he goes, for Amanda. The one he’d asked his mother to light must be going out, by now. There should be one burning until the baby comes, figures Sonny, a small smile coming to his face as he thinks about it. At least, ‘til the both of them are out of the hospital, safe and sound.

Sonny lingers a little while longer, enjoying the restfulness that wraps itself around him on this cold night. A cold night calls for a hot drink, and Sonny’s just about to get in his car to head home when the thought suddenly appears to him, of Barba, sitting alone in his office, probably prepping for the trial.

Frowning at the steering wheel, Sonny wonders whether he’s been there since he saw Sonny off at the precinct. Did he go right back to the D.A.’s office after that? He hadn’t had lunch either, Sonny knows.

Sonny taps his fingers along the wheel for a brief second, before putting the car into drive, and breezing off along the street, heading somewhere completely different from where he’d been planning initially. It’s not too far off from the church, but his apartment’s a little further. Still, it’s not like he minds. He wants to.

He’s been doing a lot of things on a whim, recently, but this probably takes the cake. Then again, Sonny’s never been one to shy away from anything. And there’s always someone out there who’s in need of some good Italian.

 

 

A knock, two, three.

“Come in.” 

Sonny pushes the door open, and Barba doesn’t look up from his work until the door clicks shut behind Sonny, and it’s with a surprised look that Barba catches sight of Sonny first, and then the bag that hangs loosely from his fingers. “Hey,” Sonny says simply, “this isn’t an attempt at bribery, I swear.”

“An attempt at playing nice, then?” Barba sets his pen on the table, a black fountain pen with silver markings engraved along its length. Sonny manages to make out _Rafael_ along the side before it’s blocked by a file. “Trying to get into my good graces?”

“Too late for that, isn’t it?” Sonny snarks back, and he sets the bag on Barba’s desk. “Kinda figured you might’ve been too busy to go get dinner earlier, and it was on the way, so.”

Barba just looks at him. A little strangely, notices Sonny, as if he’s trying to scrutinise Sonny’s intentions just through staring him down. Finally, Barba says, “Are you going to sit down, or just continue standing there for the next hour?”

The next couple of minutes are filled with the sound of a rustling paper bag, the plastic clink of forks and spoons, and faint shuffling. A take-away bowl of penne sits neatly between them. Beside it, two paper cups of coffee sit, faintly steaming. Barba had poured them while Sonny fumbled with utensils.

Sonny rolls up his sleeves, and picks at his pasta. “I heard defense’s got a psychologist on hand, now. He worked for SVU a while ago, Fin said.”

“You heard right.” Barba leans back in his chair. “I’ve warned Benson, but she won’t realise just how much she won’t want to hear what he has to say on the stand until she does hear it.”

“They close?” At Barba’s nod, Sonny understands. “He’s just doing his job. Like the rest of us are.”

“She won’t see it that way.” Barba scrapes his spoon along his plate, back and forth, idly. “How was Delores?”

“Holding on.” As she always is. Sonny doesn’t need to add that. “We didn’t talk much about the case.” She hadn’t wanted to, he could see, and he hadn’t either. Instead, they’d talked about cooking, and traded recipes, and Sonny had regaled her with a tale or two about his childhood. She had laughed, a couple of times. He was glad she did. 

“Good,” Barba murmurs, and he says no more, choosing to occupy himself with the food and drink instead.

The bowl’s cleaned in no time. It goes back into the bag, and the bag goes onto the floor, the paper cups along with it, and Sonny’s about to excuse himself when Barba states, “It hadn’t been on the way.”

“Pardon?”

“You coming here. That hadn’t really been on the way.” Barba raises an eyebrow. 

Sonny flushes, despite himself. “Honestly? It kinda was,” he says, tugging absently at his sleeve, “I stopped to light a candle after visiting Delores. It was near enough.”

“You’re Catholic?” Barba seems surprised by this piece of news, too. Looks like Sonny isn’t the only one who’s still catching up on the other. “But, well, I suppose I should have seen it. Italian family from Staten Island.” He pauses for a moment. “So am I, actually.”

Sonny perks up. “Really?” Familiarity in the most unexpected of places. 

“But, not really—actively practicing, though,” Barba hastens to add, sounding almost a little embarrassed, and Sonny just waves it off. He’s gotten that from people before. It never makes a difference, anyway.

“As long as you believe, it still counts. It’ll always count.” Sonny hesitates. “Maybe next time you could, uh, join me. Y’know, to light one. It’d be good.”

“I—thank you, Carisi.” Barba sounds contemplative, words soft around the edges. Maybe he’s already thinking of whom to light one for. Sonny thinks he might be. “Perhaps I will.”

The smile Sonny gives him this time, Barba returns genuinely, a real smile that isn’t from amusement, or from a sneer, or a smirk, or anything else Sonny’s seen over the time they’ve worked together. An honest-to-god smile, reaching the corners of his eyes, and—

— _god,_ thinks Sonny, something curling in his chest that isn’t sleep or exhaustion, but the quiet notion of something that he can’t stamp down, and this isn’t what he thinks it is. It isn’t.

(But it is.)

Sonny makes to leave, citing sleep and an early start in the morning as an excuse, and Barba sees him to the door. “Till morning, then.”

“Yeah.” Sonny stuffs his hands into his pockets. “G’night, Barba.”

“Night, Carisi.”

 

 

He’s greeted by shadows when he opens the door, and he fumbles for a moment, searching for the light-switch. The apartment flickers into view, and Sonny elbows the door closed, shrugging out of his coat and tugging his tie loose.

It’s been quite a while now, but Sonny doesn’t mind admitting that he’s not yet used to the silence that comes with the lack of his family members living in the same house. He toes his shoes off, padding towards his bed, completely forgoing the process of removing the rest of his work clothes.

Fatigue has definitely set in, at this point. Sonny slumps onto his bed, thinking about how Gina’s going to shriek at him for not calling the entire week, and how Theresa’s probably gonna do the honours herself. She’s always been the one to check in on him, no matter what’s going on over on her side.

He glances at his phone. No missed calls yet. Maybe he’ll wake up to a couple. Him, answering the phone groggily as it blares in his ear. Terry’s cheerful voice, reminding him that he still has a life outside of police-work, and that their mother wants to see him at least once this month. Gina’s voice in the background, because it’s a weekend and Gina always visits on a weekend.

Sonny smiles to himself, and crosses his arms behind his head.

He wonders how Bella’s doing. Whether she and Tommy are alright. He knows, he’s overdue for a visit, and little Elyse must be missing her Uncle Sonny by now, he hopes. Well, as much as babies can miss relatives they see about once a week. Maybe they’re over at his parents’ house too, right now. Bella’s always been unpredictable. And his parents wouldn’t say no to having their grandkid over for a night or two.

The phone call he’d been imagining now resettles itself with a baby laughing in the background. It’s a nice image. He loves hearing all of them laugh. It keeps him grounded.

Sonny can study tomorrow. There’s time to squeeze in. He’ll get up at five, take a quick shower, then reread that hand-out his Evidence lecturer had given the class the other night. Then, duty calls.

Yeah. He can make time. He can. He’s still losing a ton of sleep, but he’ll do it.

It’s only for a little while more, anyway. Then, onto the Bar.

Sonny figures he should probably mention it to the others. That he’s graduating soon. 

He knows he’ll at least tell Amanda, that’s a given. She’ll grin at him and say that pizza’s on her, and they’ll hang out and watch a game together. That is, if she’ll be out of the hospital by then. He’s sure she will.

Maybe he’ll mention it, just offhandedly, to the squad sometime after the case. It’s not like he’s expecting them to come and see him at the ceremony anyway. Besides. It’s going to be a day for family.

(But then, so are they, in a way.)

He’s almost asleep when his thoughts drift further, from his family, to the recent Mets game, and then to the day he’s had today. What a day. Honestly, what a week.

And then there’d been Barba, at the end of it. Barba and that smile he’d given Sonny, just before he’d left the ADA’s office. It was rare enough that Sonny wanted to keep it, the memory of it, clear and bright in his mind, even though it was nothing more than just that—a smile.

Sonny’s always been good with other people’s feelings, but never his own.

Exhaustion is pulling his eyes closer shut, but he can’t help but wonder how it’d happened. When it’d happened. He hadn’t even noticed—it’s been so long, and he’s been so swamped with work, and studying, and getting his life on track and remembering not to fall asleep on top of his paperwork or wake up thinking that it’s an incomplete assignment that he hasn’t done.

Sonny rolls over onto his side, and sighs into his pillow, trying to make sense of it all.

He doesn’t fall asleep for another hour.

 

 

“Jesus, Carisi,” a passing officer says, when he walks into the precinct the morning after. “You look like hell frozen over.”

Sonny laughs and waves it off, but he knows just how bad he looks. Still sleep-logged, a little unkempt. He’d accidentally slept in a little longer than he’d wanted, and had ended up rushing over. He’ll have to get a couple of coffees into his system soon, otherwise he’ll be completely out of it for the trial later.

He shuffles to his desk, and starts getting his stuff ready. Notepad, check. Pens, check. Files, check. Tablet, check—

“Big day, Carisi.” Sonny glances up, and Olivia’s walking over. “Don’t be too nervous.” She takes a proper look at him, and frowns. “Didn’t sleep well, last night?”

“Not really,” Sonny admits, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. “I’ll be fine, though, no worries. I just—had a lot to think about yesterday.”

Olivia nods. “It’s been a lot of work, the case. I know you’ve put more hours into it this week than anyone else in this precinct.”

Sonny’s first reaction is almost to say, no, Barba’s the one who’s skipping meals and staying in his office working until even the city falls asleep, but he just smiles, and says, “Nah, Lieutenant. You’ve been working this for years. Don’t think anyone’s done more than you have.”

Olivia smiles in acknowledgment, but there’s a faraway quality to it. Sonny doesn’t inquire. “We better get going, Detective. Don’t want Barba to get on your case again.”

Sonny huffs a quick laugh. “That won’t be happening.”

Barba’s already there when they reach the courts, and he just gives Sonny a quick once-over, probably making sure he’s presentable enough to sit up front with him. “Morning Benson, Carisi. Detective Tutuola on his way with Delores yet?”

“Yeah, they’re gonna be here in a few.” Sonny checks his watch out of habit. They’ve still got some time to go. He watches Barba thumb at his phone for a few moments, and then he watches Olivia pace, and then he watches as Fin arrives with Delores on his arm, Delores with her scarf tucked around her neck and a look of determination on her face.

He wonders if he could ever be that strong, for as many years as she has.

The trial isn’t all smooth-sailing, though. Defense counsel goes at Delores hard, and Barba’s already incensed by the time they take a recess. It’s going to be a tough one, and he’d known that from the beginning, but Lisa Hassler is every bit as good as she’s purported to be, and everyone knows it. 

It starts to go downhill when Olivia takes the stand, and Sonny really isn’t sure where they can go from here. Barba looks as if he’s about to snap a pencil in half, and Olivia just looks infuriated by defense’s questions. Sonny almost would have admired Hassler’s methods, if he hadn’t been on the opposing side.

Sonny sits silently at the table all throughout, taking in minute notes and observations that Barba’s probably already caught within the first second of hearing or seeing, but Sonny’s always had a knack for noticing tics and habits, having so many of his own.

“I never saw that little—” Hodda croaks, pausing just long enough for Sonny to catch the swift change in his expression, the little jump of his Adam’s apple when he swallows the next word, and says it in a voice no steadier than before, shaking his head. “I never saw that little boy before in my life.”

The words hang in the air, and Sonny scratches them onto his notepad immediately, sliding it over to Barba while Hassler continues to question Hodda.

 _Little boys?_ his writing reads, and Barba glances up at him once, before nodding, so slightly that Sonny could’ve missed it if he’d blinked. 

Then, Hassler finishes, and Barba begins.

 

 

“Hey,” Sonny says, patting Barba on the shoulder as they walk out of the courtroom. “Nice cross, Counselor.”

“Little boys,” Barba murmurs, “thank you. It was a tell.”

Sonny feels a swell of pride rush through him. “Yeah, but what you did with it—if that had been a boxing match, they would’ve thrown in the towel right there.”

He almost takes it back after the psychologist testifies, though. 

Sonny could feel the tension coming off in waves, once that had been over. Olivia hadn’t spoken to anyone after, and Barba had been too distracted by the fact that his case was falling apart.

And the patrol cop really hadn’t helped, either.

Post-trial, Barba closes the door to the small side-room and says to Sonny, “Well. You’re more than aware of what happens now. Jury deliberations.”

“At least it’s over, now.” 

“Not yet.” Barba shakes his head. “It hasn’t been over for a long time. I doubt it’ll just be over even when they come back with a verdict.”

Sonny nods. “Yeah, you’re right. Nice work though, Barba. You did great.”

“So did you, Carisi.” Barba just looks at him for a moment, before motioning towards the door. There’s something in his expression that Sonny isn’t sure about, but there’s always another time to figure it out. Not today. _Someday._ “Let’s go.”

Sonny follows.

 

 

“Hey, Ma. Yeah, no, I’ll be there on Friday. I’ll be a bit late—yeah, work, you know, there’s this case that we’re wrapping up soon—no, yeah, I’ll bring something. Tell Bella to call me if she needs anything else.” Sonny smiles at his desk, still holding his phone close, chin pressed to his shoulder, as his mother chatters at him over the line. “Yeah, Ma. See you soon. Tell Pop I said hi. Love you.”

Sonny puts his phone down, and goes back to scribbling across forms.

It’s a busy evening at the precinct, phones ringing and officers answering, fax machines and printers and the sound of chairs squeaking. But it’s no different from any other day, evening or night. The precinct is always busy. Sonny loves it.

His phone pings.

He picks it up, expecting one of his sisters to be texting for some reason or other, but it’s a surprise when the name that pops up is ‘Rafael Barba’ instead.

 _Still at the precinct, Carisi?_ the text reads.

Sonny types back. _Yeah. Need something?_

_Check out the jurors’ social media profiles again._

_On it._

_Good. See you tomorrow, Carisi._

Sonny leans back in his chair and pulls up a list of the jurors, at the same time opening a couple of tabs on his web browser. This’ll give him something to do while he finishes the rest of the incident report for yesterday night.

He’s scrolling through a page when a voice calls out from behind, “Anything?”

Sonny glances over his shoulder, and Fin’s striding in, looking like he’d be glad for some information. “Nope,” Sonny replies, and even he’s not glad about it. “Five days.”

“Hector’s mother is barely holding it together. Liv’s with her.”

Good, thinks Sonny. He wouldn’t want Delores to be alone right now. He’d been there yesterday, sitting in her little flat on her red sofa, attempting to distract her from the case by telling her about his own flat troubles, and asking for advice. She’d smiled some, at least, and sent him off some hours later, reminding him to scrub the tiles with saltwater and lemon juice, and nothing more.

(It hadn’t been enough to keep her mind off of things. Nothing could probably take her mind off this. “My little boy,” she’d said last night, as Sonny held her hand, late into the night and long after all conversation had been used up. The cars in the street below were as loud as they always were, but her voice was a whisper, and it had been all Sonny could hear. _My Hector._ )

“You still studying?” Fin asks, breaking Sonny out of his reverie.

“No,” Sonny says, and he motions. “Check this out. Jury social media. Juror number one, the forewoman?” A blonde woman whose Facebook profile had been set semi-public, probably for work purposes. Sonny had spent most of the past fifteen minutes idly looking through her page, and attempting not to snort at the picture of a cartoon turkey with a pilgrim hat on. “Name’s Sharon Daley. She’s been posting for _months_ about this big family reunion she’s having at Thanksgiving.”

“Holiday’s coming and jury’s stuck in a hotel on Staten Island,” Fin comments dryly.

“Yeah, and they all gotta be dying to get out.”

Fin’s phone buzzes in his back pocket, and he straightens up to take the call. “Hold on.” He checks the caller ID, before answering promptly, “Hey, what’s up, Amanda? Yeah?”

Sonny frowns, and gets up, following after Fin as he steps away. She never calls around this time. It’s almost five and she’s usually attempting to take a nap around now, because the kid’s a lot more still in the evenings, and it’s the only time she can sleep for longer than two hours without some kind of alarm going off somewhere in her apartment block.

“Whoa, hold on, I’ll come get you,” he hears Fin say, and immediately his mind jumps to a million ridiculous conclusions, but he wills himself to not say the first stupid thing that comes to the forefront of his brain, and settles for the most obvious one first.

“The baby coming?”

Fin shakes his head minutely, but Sonny can tell he’s concerned. “Something’s happening, doctor wants to check on her. You cool holdin’ down the fort?”

Every bone in Sonny’s body is screaming for him to go and look out for her, but he knows she’s in more than capable hands with Fin there, and he just sighs.

“Yeah, yeah, go. I’m good. I’m good, I wanna be close in case the jury comes back anyway.” His phone pings twice, and well—surprise, surprise. “Which they just did.”

 _Get here, now,_ reads the text. Straight to the point, Barba always is.

“Happy Thanksgiving,” Fin says, and Sonny would’ve cracked a smile, if it weren’t for the fact that the jury’s taken five entire days to get back with a verdict. Goddamn, it better be in their favour.

It better.

 

 

He strides in just as the jury’s taking their seats in the box. Barba’s leaning back in his chair, rolling his pen between his fingertips.

Sonny slides behind his chair, lightly placing his hand on Barba’s shoulder to get his attention. “Verdict?” he murmurs, and Barba just shakes his head, looking pensive. 

Sonny doesn’t feel good about this at all.

He feels even worse when one of the jurors decides that he—and god knows who else—want to hear the rules for whether a confession is voluntary or not. He doesn’t even have to turn around to know that Olivia’s back there, silently infuriated.

“Very well,” the judge goes. “Under our law, a statement is not voluntary...”

His voice drones off as Sonny turns to look at Barba, a little incredulous. They’d spent five days sequestered and came back with a _question?_

Barba looks back at him, looking even more worn out by the fact that the deliberations are being dragged out even longer than he thought they would.

“... or the length of time of the defendant’s questioning.”

Barba scrunches up a paper ball, and chucks it at his water glass, eyes hard.

Sonny wishes he could chuck one at that juror.

 

 

He watches Barba and Olivia converse quietly by the window, Barba obviously reassuring Olivia what she did had been the right thing—and it had been, thinks Sonny, running a hand through his hair, god, if she hadn’t—and Liv knows that, she does. But if the jury’s convinced that the confession’s inadmissible—

Olivia turns, and Sonny hadn’t even realised she’d been on the phone, but he sees her lips form the words, ‘Is she alright?’ and his stomach drops. He knows something’s up, and he walks back over.

Barba nods at him when he comes back over, and they both stand waiting while Olivia listens intently to Fin, most likely. The second she puts the phone down, Sonny’s asking, “What happened, is she okay? Some sort of complication?”

“Calm down, Carisi. She’s fine.” Olivia’s words settle him a little. “Doctor’s put her on a monitor, just to make sure the baby’s alright. Fin’s with her.”

“Alright,” repeats Sonny, and that’s good, they’ll watch her and make sure everything’s alright. “Good.”

“I’m sure things will be fine,” Barba states, softly. He meets Sonny’s gaze, and he almost seems to say, without the need to say anything: _it will._

It’s funny how much you learn about a person’s eyes after spending hours in close contact with them. Sonny smiles, somewhat reassured, and nods.

He doesn’t notice that Olivia’s watching the interaction that passes between the both of them, until she clears her throat and says, “Carisi, you good to go back to the precinct?”

“Yeah, boss.” He nods, and takes his leave. “See you later, Liv. Barba.”

“Carisi,” Barba says, before turning to Olivia and adding, “I’ve got a meeting with the DA in about an hour. Later?”

“Later,” Sonny catches Olivia saying, as he walks away, “and you’re telling me everything.”

Barba just whooshes away, in his coat and tie and perfectly-lined everything.

Sonny steps into the sun and wishes for the days he hadn’t had to deal with unreasonable attraction with awful timing.

 

 

“All of it?”

 _Geez,_ thinks Sonny, even Judge Horowitz thinks this is ridiculous.

“I’m not really sure what good it’ll do,” Sharon Daley says, and the same juror from before stands up, looking adamant.

_You and me both, Sharon._

Barba’s already looking stressed, pressing his thumb and forefinger to his temple. Even defense is looking a little hassled. They obviously hadn’t expected things to go on this long. Reviewing the testimonies don’t mean a damn thing—except for the fact that they might change their minds from whatever they’d already decided. Again even, perhaps.

Hassler leans over. “We need to talk.”

Barba doesn’t even need to say a thing. 

 

 

They sit through the entire thing, painfully. Sonny never thought he could get tired of hearing a voice speak, but that poor court reporter got it bad, today. All the testimonies.

Barba immediately downs a cup of coffee the second they hit their room, and does his perfunctory rolling-up of the sleeves and loosening of the tie. Sonny doesn’t bother; he paces the length of the room for a moment before flipping the case file open, and then closed again. He’s restless.

He knows Barba’s going to cut a deal with Hassler. It’s the only way to guarantee at least some sort of benefit for either side without going to an extreme. He knows Hassler doesn’t want to take the chance that the jury returns a guilty verdict, after all this. And Barba won’t settle for a waiting game.

And Hassler walks in, moments later, while Barba’s on his second cup of coffee.

It’s amazing to see them both in their elements. Just as much as in court, they’re sizing each other up, calling bluffs. Speaking so cautiously that if anyone else were watching this scene on mute, they’d think the two were flirting.

But that’s lawyers, for you. It’s all words, careful words and murmured deals and slick acceptances. It’s partly the reason Sonny doubts that he’ll be any good at it, at arguing his cases without coming off as someone who has no idea what he’s doing, at doing stuff like this.

Hassler leaves, and Barba sits back down without a word.

Sonny’s the one to break the silence. “Eight years,” he says. “Eight years?”

“Eight years,” Barba echoes. “We have to take it.”

It’s silent again for a moment, and Barba glances over to look at Sonny, who’s frowning. He’d probably been expecting Sonny to disagree. To vehemently make known his opposition to the unbearable minuscule number of years Lewis Hodda would go away for. To at least say something.

Instead, Sonny says, “Yeah,” and nods, a little numbly. “We gotta.”

 

 

“Hey, kiddo,” comes Theresa’s voice, and Sonny exhales, leaning back against the wall he’s standing against. “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah, just.” Sonny lets the question hang for a moment. He could say that he is. But he isn’t. Not really. “Tough case.”

“It’s gonna be over soon, right?”

Sonny nods, even though he knows she won’t see it. “Almost. How’s your guy, he come over to meet the folks yet?”

“Friday.” Theresa laughs. “I knew you’d bring that up some way or another. He’s looking forward to meeting you too.”

“Yeah, well.” Sonny smiles. “You tell him to look sharp when he comes over. Can’t have everyone thinking you’re dating a slob like that last one.”

“He’s even got a tie and everything.”

“How ‘bout that.”

“Right?” Theresa pauses for a moment. “Sonny, if there’s anything you need to tell me—”

“It’s fine, Terry.” Sonny glances at his watch. Should go back in soon. “I know. If there’s anything, you’re there.”

“Damn right I am. Talk to you soon?”

“Friday,” Sonny promises. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

 

 

The judge declares a mistrial, and Sonny’s never seen Barba look this wrecked before.

His face had been grim, when Horowitz said the words, but the second he’d turned around and came face-to-face with Delores, who just looked at him like there was nothing else left in the world for her—Sonny could see it.

They’d found out later, outside on the steps that a number of factors had played into the deadlock: one of the jurors thinking the patrol cop was guilty, a few more figuring that the confession had been coerced. All around, just not enough.

“I’m sorry, Liv,” Barba tells her, and Sonny glances over at Delores, who’s receiving sympathies from some of the jurors. Not much good it’ll get now, but the thought’s there. If it hadn’t been for the few of those who’d been doubtful.

She comes up to them a few moments later, eyes red-ringed with tears. “Some of the jurors, would like to—light a candle for Hector tonight, is that okay?”

“Of course,” Barba says immediately. 

“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Barba. I—I know how hard you tried.” She reaches out, and he closes his own hand over hers, a passing gesture. One that says, _I’m sorry. I wish I could’ve tried harder._

“Going up to the memorial?”

“No,” Sonny says, reckoning he should probably get a word in quick, “I’m gonna spot Fin at the hospital. Keep Rollins company.” He should, now that he can. And he knows Barba and Olivia are probably gonna want some time to talk about things.

Olivia turns down Barba’s suggestion to go together, and walks off, probably needing some time to get herself together. Sonny can’t blame her. She’s handled the case for years, and to have it come together like this? That’s no ending. That’s no closure. That’s never going to be enough.

He turns to Barba, who’s still following Olivia’s departure. “There isn’t any other way?”

“Maybe.” Barba shakes his head. “We’ll see.”

“Yeah.” Sonny rests a hand on his shoulder. “I’m gonna head out first. In case.” In case anything happens, he doesn’t add, and I don’t want to not be there the next time something does.

“Go, I’m sure Rollins will be happy to see you.” Barba nods. “We’ll talk later.”

Sonny lets his hand fall, and leaves.

 

 

“Hey,” Sonny says, opening the door quietly. Fin looks up from where he’s sitting, his phone in his hands. He looks tired, and probably is, having been here since the time he called Olivia. “How’s things been?”

Amanda’s silent in the bed, cheek pressed to her pillow as she sleeps. “She’s alright. Just fell asleep about half an hour ago.” Fin stretches a little. “Doctor said it’ll be better if she just stays here ‘til the baby comes.”

Sonny nods, taking the chair beside Fin. She looks a little pale. One of her hands is resting lightly around the curve of her stomach. Sonny thinks of Elyse, and wonders if the kid will have the same shade of blonde hair. Maybe a little more straw-coloured, though.

“Judge called a mistrial. Jury deadlocked.” At Fin’s expression, Sonny goes on. “Not too sure where we’re going from here.”

“And Delores?”

“At Hector’s memorial, now. They’re lighting candles, Liv and Barba.” Sonny pats his shoulder. “If you wanna drop by there, say hi, or go take a nap or somethin’, I’ll be here.”

Fin stands, and takes a last look towards Amanda before heading towards the door. “Thanks, Carisi. Be back in a bit.”

“Take your time,” Sonny replies. He doesn’t have anywhere to go, right now. And he’s wide awake, anyway. Won’t be falling asleep anytime soon.

He watches the time go past, and alternates between reading notes, doodling across a legal pad, and playing Fallout: Shelter on his phone. Amanda turns a couple of times in her sleep, never tossing, but she looks peaceful. Sonny hopes that whatever’d happened earlier doesn’t repeat itself.

A raider attack’s taking place at his vault, and Sonny’s absentmindedly distributing dwellers with better weapons to the second floor, when he hears a groan come from the bed. He turns his phone off, placing it down, and steps over to where Amanda’s blinking her eyes open, frowning.

“You alright?”

“I’m fine,” she whispers, and she’s very obviously not fine, judging by the look on her face, but she waves him off, saying, “just hurts a fuck-ton.”

“Should I call the nurse? The doctor? Does she need to know—”

“Sonny,” Amanda says, grabbing his wrist, “shut up, sit down, and hold my hand.”

Obediently, Sonny does, pulling his chair closer. Amanda’s grip is vice-like on his hand, but he’s dealt with people in pain before. His hand could probably withstand an iron clamp at this point.

“God, this baby better come out of me tonight, or I’ll sure as hell _make_ it,” she mutters, squeezing her eyes shut. 

“Don’t think she’d appreciate that,” Sonny says lightly. “Want some water?”

“Later.” Amanda breathes, and then looks at him. “You really think it’ll be a girl?”

“Yeah, why not?” Sonny shrugs. “Gonna be just like you. Look at how stubborn she’s being already.”

Amanda laughs, but the next wave of pain hits her just as she does, and she spends the next five minutes curled up, until Sonny finally frees his hand from her grasp and goes to get the doctor.

Labour is terrifying. Sonny’s glad he never has to be on that end of things.

It’s some hours in when Sonny’s phone starts to ring, and Amanda shoos him outside for a few minutes while the doctor conducts tests.

“Carisi,” he answers, once he’s outside in the corridor.

“You sound terrible.” Barba’s voice filters through, and Sonny laughs, sitting down on the bench by the wall. “Have you even slept?”

“Nah. Been at the hospital the whole time. ‘Sides, I can’t sleep anyway.”

“I’m sure there’s enough awful cafeteria instant to keep you on your feet till morning.”

“They might just run out.”

“Doubt it. What do you think the staff runs on?”

Sonny laughs. “Not actual coffee, apparently.” He lets his head fall back against the wall. “How was the memorial?”

“Fine.” Barba sounds thoughtful. “We still have our case. The other child’s mother—Benson somehow managed to convince her. They’re going to cooperate.”

Sonny perks up. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Barba makes a sound that almost comes off as a laugh. “And, Carisi? It’s five in the morning.”

Sonny checks his watch. “Geez, you’re right. Well,” he says, “guess I’m not the only one who’s lost track of time, then. How’d you know I’d be up?”

“Had a hunch.”

“Mm.” Sonny doesn’t know if it’s the lack of sleep talking, but he’s starting to think that Barba’s voice might be helping with that minute headache behind his temples. “And you’re always right.”

“Always, Carisi? Such faith.”

“Course.”

Barba doesn’t reply, then. Sonny wonders if that had been too-honest of an admission. 

Then, Barba says, “Is your name actually Dominick?”

“Whoa there, someone’s been looking up my file in their free time, eh?”

Barba huffs. There’s the slight rustle of paper. Sonny wonders if Barba’s already in his office. Sonny wonders if Barba even left. “Light reading.”

Sonny grins. “No one actually calls me that, though. That’s my father’s name.”

“Sonny is an atrocity of a nickname,” Barba murmurs, and Sonny snorts. “But I suppose it does fit you. I don’t think I could see you as a Dominick.”

“Hey, if it’s anything, I doubt I could ever see you as anything other than Barba or ‘Counselor,’ so.”

“That’s a good thing.” Barba actually does laugh, at this point. “Keep it professional.”

Sonny hums. “Not like it’d go anywhere else besides that.”

There’s a pause again. “Ah,” Barba says softly, sounding like he’s about to say something else when the creak of a door sounds, and Doctor Sloan walks out of Amanda’s room. 

“You can go back in, now,” she says, and Sonny stands.

“Hey, I’ve gotta go. Thanks for letting me know. About the case.”

“Courtesy call.” Sonny suspects that hadn’t been just it, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. “Good morning, Carisi.”

“Morning to you too, Barba.”

The call ends. Sonny puts his phone back in his pocket, and runs a hand through his hair. God, he really does need some caffeine in his system at this point. 

He goes back in, and doesn’t mention who called, instead choosing to distract Amanda by telling her about his impending graduation.

The phone call, though. He’d like to keep that for himself.

 

 

“Carisi, go home.” Rollins turns over from where she’d been lying on her side, and exhales slowly. “Fin’ll be back here soon.”

“Yeah, well, I’ll wait till he gets here, okay? Want some-more ice chips?”

He’s hovering. He knows he’s hovering. It’d been the same way when Bella had been in the hospital, and when Gina had appendicitis, and when his dad had broken a bone tripping over a loose floorboard, once. His sisters tell him he’s just like their mother. Their mother just sighs, and tells him that it’s a good thing, because no one else in this family knows how to.

Olivia enters the room. “How’s it going?”

“We’re getting pretty close. Contractions are five minutes apart, so.”

Olivia approaches the bed, her usual comforting smile in place. Sonny’s just glad someone else is here. He’s getting a more than a little antsy. “Hey, Amanda. How you holding up?”

“I’m tired, and it hurts like hell. Oh, and they say it’s too late for an epidural.”

Sonny frowns a little. He’d been there when the nurse mentioned it, and he wishes that it hadn’t been; Amanda looks and sounds absolutely miserable at this point. Olivia makes a sympathetic sound, and nods.

Amanda gasps, digging her fingers into her bed. 

Sonny leans over. “Okay, here we go. Just breathe, you got this.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” Olivia soothes, placing a hand on Amanda’s knee when she groans again, “you’re doing great, Amanda.”

The scream that Amanda lets out is frightening. “It’s not a contraction,” she sobs, almost incoherently, “it’s not a contraction.” She’s grabbing at her back, almost panicked. “It’s my back. Something’s wrong.”

A series of alarming beeps comes from the bedside monitor. The second it starts up, Sonny pushes the door open and calls, “We need a doctor in here.”

Sonny doesn’t know what else he can do, besides stand there. When Amanda says the word ‘blood,’ something in him sinks, and he prays to high heaven that it isn’t what it is, that it isn’t what it could be, and that it’s just a momentary hiccup in the scheme of things.

“I need you to step out, now,” the nurse tells him, and Sonny can’t bear to, can’t bring himself to leave the room while Amanda’s lying there in pain, but he allows Olivia to gently push him backwards as they both step out of the ward, watching through the window while the staff move hurriedly around Amanda.

Sonny barely tears his eyes away from the scene to see Fin in time, walking up towards them, probably about to ask why they’re out here and not in there.

He lets Olivia answer this one. He can find the words later.

It’ll be fine, he tells himself. They’ll both be fine, she and the baby. 

He knows they will.


End file.
